


Deep Enough

by mnemosyne23



Category: Lost RPF
Genre: Dom's good with his hands, F/M, Fingering, Foot rubs, Sexy Times
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-01-20
Updated: 2006-01-20
Packaged: 2018-01-12 20:50:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1199778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mnemosyne23/pseuds/mnemosyne23
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dom and Emilie are both in L.A. after a hectic festival circuit.  Emilie's feet hurt - Dom helps.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Deep Enough

Emilie's feet were screaming bloody murder as she kicked off her strappy heels and collapsed on the floor. "Thank God that's over," she moaned, closing her eyes and rubbing her sore feet in the soft, plush fur of the polar bear rug. "Where are we again? I've lost track."

Dom's familiar chuckle met her ears, though she didn't bother to open her eyes. "Los Angeles," he reminded her gamely, and she heard him flop down on the suite's couture sofa. "You were at Sundance, I was at Slamdance, we _just_ got in from some hoity-toity ABC shindig for God knows what, and tomorrow we're both heading back to Hawaii." He nudged her leg with his toe. "That sink in, or should I use flash cards?"

She giggled and nudged back with her own toe. "I think I've got it, thanks." She sighed. "Thanks for riding back with me, Dom. I'm so exhausted I don't think I could have found my room on my own."

"It was more an accident, really," he clarified. "You were about to get into Jennifer Garner's limo by mistake, so I interceded and ended up in your cab. A shame, really. I was meaning to steal some of the flatware from the reception hall -- all I've got are plastic forks back in Hawaii."

Emilie laughed and opened her eyes, kicking out at him with a small foot which he caught easily in his hand. "You're awful," she said with a grin.

Dom smirked at her, his eyes twinkling with mirth. "Awful?" he asked with an arched eyebrow as his thumb began massaging slow circles on the bare sole of her foot. "Or fiendishly good?"

Moaning softly, Emilie sagged back onto the rug. "Keep doing that and I'll call you whatever you want," she murmured, wiggling her toes.

"Sore feet?"

"I should never have worn those shoes. You have no idea."

She heard a pair of dual thumps and opened her eyes enough to see that Dom had kicked off his own shoes and was sliding off the sofa to sit on the rug beside her. "You were the prettiest belle at the ball, if it makes you feel any better," he assured her.

"Oh, please. I look like a chocolate meringue." She fluffed the pleated skirt of her black gown. "I feel like I'm at a formal."

"Really? You've had experience flat on your back on a bear skin rug with a strange man rubbing your feet at a party before?" Dom teased, picking up her other foot and giving it the same soothing treatment as the first.

"That kind of talk will get you in trouble, Mr. Monaghan," she said with a giggle, closing her eyes again and enjoying the warm, tingling sensations his hands were causing on her feet.

"Such as?"

"I don’t know, but I'll think of something."

There was a moment of comfortable silence.

Then the tickling began.

Emilie hated being tickled. She often warned people that if they started tickling her, she would not be held responsible for any broken bones they suffered as a result of her flailing. This usually didn't convince anyone, until they'd tried giving her a tickle and found out she _meant_ it. Bruce McAllister in fifth grade had suffered a bloody nose and lost a tooth because he was too thick to figure it out the first time she hit him.

Dom's tickling came out of nowhere. The change came so quickly, at first Emilie wasn't sure what was going on. One second Dom was rubbing her foot, the next his fingers were all over the soles of _both_ feet, brushing over her sensitive arches in infuriating, teasing touches. Her eyes flew open as she let out a squeal of protest, kicking her feet, trying to fend him off. But he had her ankles trapped neatly under one arm while his free hand teased her toes. "DOMINIC MONAGHAN, don't you DARE!" she shrieked, wiggling in his grasp.

His eyes were sparkling with ill-suppressed mirth as he held on despite her squirming. "Don’t I dare what?" he asked, all innocence. "This?"

His hand stole further up her legs to tickle behind her knees. Tears of laughter and frustration welled in Emilie's eyes as she bucked and squirmed in his grasp, trying to get away. "STOP!" she pleaded breathlessly, laughing despite herself, reaching down and trying to push his hands away. "Stop, please!"

"Is that what you really want?"

" **YES!** "

"Well, okay then."

His fingers stopped moving. Emilie flopped back onto the rug, gasping for air, still giggling as her body slowly began to calm down.

Then she felt Dom's hand on her thigh; and not her outer thigh, either.

"Dom…?" she panted, feeling hidden receptors in her skin wake up at the graze of his fingertips over her delicate inner thigh.

"Mmm?" His fingers were brushing idly back and forth against her flesh, almost like an afterthought. She would have believed he didn't know what he was doing if she didn't feel his hand moving steadily higher with each airy stroke.

Opening her eyes, she gazed down her body at him. His blue eyes were shadowed, predatory, as he crouched over her legs like a panther. There was something about the way his bangs fell in a fringe over his forehead coupled with the rough scruff of his beard that made him look wild. It was a strange dichotomy, juxtaposed against the dapper pinstripe sports jacket, beige khakis and cream polo shirt he still wore from earlier in the night. He looked ready to shed them like a snake sheds it's skin.

She shivered.

"What are you doing…?" she asked, though her tongue felt heavy and the words tumbled over her lips in a slurry.

"Do you want me to stop?" he murmured, blue eyes burning.

His fingers were near the top of her thigh now. She jumped with a gasp as his knuckles faintly grazed the juncture of her legs, sending a bolt of electricity into her belly that made her bones melt.

"I… I don't…," she gasped, her head spinning. Five minutes ago they'd just been two friends chatting and she'd been half asleep. Now his hand was up her skirt and she'd never felt more awake. It was too much to process -- she couldn't think. Not with his hand doing what it was doing, tracing figure eights on her thigh. She could _think_ if he'd just _stop_.

But if he stopped, he'd… stop.

"No," she mumbled.

"No what?" he asked.

Her eyes slid open and she stared at him. "Don't stop," she whispered.

A grin suffused his face, and again she was reminded of a snake as his tongue edged out between his teeth. "How far can I go?" he asked, slowly stretching out on his side, propped on one elbow as his other hand continued it's magic under her skirt. "Can I go this far?" With catlike precision his fingers slid down the sensitive crease of her thigh, and she jumped with a soft yelp. "Do you want that?"

Nodding quickly, Emilie pressed her fingers into the rug. "Yes," she panted, clutching the soft white fur.

"What about this?" Emilie closed her eyes and bit her bottom lip to hold in a moan as his fingers slid into the crotch of her panties. "Do you like this?"

He was cruelty incarnate, playing her by degrees. Steeling herself, she opened her eyes again and stared him down, blue on blue. "Yes," she said through a tense jaw, trying to ignore the tingling in her pelvis as his hand stroked her.

"You didn't have to answer that one, luv," he said with a twinkle in his eye. "I could tell." His index finger skimmed along her moist lower lips, and this time Emilie didn't try to hold in the moan. "See?"

"Don't toy with me," she argued, but when it came out as a moan she knew it lost most of its power.

"You'd rather I manhandle you?" he asked, sounding genuinely intrigued. "Well hell, Emilie, if that's what you wanted, you ought just to have asked."

With no further preamble he sank two fingers into her sheath. Emilie arched away from the floor with a garbled cry of pleasure and surprise, feeling her body mold around him like a glove. Shards of white and black exploded in front of her eyes, and she couldn't blink them away.

"That's right," she heard Dominic murmur as his fingers began to pump rhythmically inside her. Her hips responded, flexing with him as soft whimpers ebbed past her lips. "How deep do you go, I wonder…"

It was hard to see through the haze of lust that had settled over her eyes, but she sensed him moving closer. An arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her smoothly to his chest as he simultaneously pushed a third finger into her body. "Oh GOD…!" she exclaimed, pressing her face into his throat as her hips began to rock harder.

"Do you know how long I've wanted to do this, luv?" he whispered near her ear, and there was none of the cocky playboy in his tone this time. He sounded ready to shatter, just like herself.

"Please…," she panted against his neck, not knowing what she was asking for but feeling she had to ask anyway.

"Go on, Em," he whispered, nuzzling her hairline. "Go on…"

The tempo of his hand sped up, the friction sparking a slow-burning fire in her belly that roared up into a blaze. Digging her fingers into his arm, she arched her back and let out a long, desperate keen of want. "Yes… Oh yes… Dom…!" she moaned, rubbing against him in the most wanton way imaginable. It was hard to believe she still had her clothes on!

"On the count of three," Dom said against her forehead. "One… two… three."

He pressed his thumb against her clit.

With a low-throated wail of pleasure, Emilie felt her hips jerk forward as an explosion of heat pulsed outward from her pelvis, warming her toes and making her breasts feel tight and uncomfortable in their bodice. For a moment the room was spinning in perfect harmony with the rotation of the earth. Then, gasping, she collapsed forward onto Dom's chest. His arm tightened around her waist, holding her tightly as tremors shook her from head to foot. Emilie pressed into the embrace, welcoming the warmth as the cool air of the room slowly began to settle on her sweat-dampened skin.

"Was it good for you, too?" Dom finally murmured into her hair, making her laugh.

"I'll tell you when it's over," she said shakily, her fingers twitching in the creases of his sport coat. "But I think it's a resounding yes."

"I've always been a hands-on type of guy."

She groaned, half from his pun, half from disappointment as his fingers slowly slipped out of her body. "This is a rented dress, you know," she observed, pillowing her cheek on his chest. "I feel a bit dirty taking it back."

Dom chuckled. "Tell you what. I'll buy it for you. If you do something for me."

She rolled her eyes and raised her head. "What's that?"

His eyes twinkled, and he held three slick fingers up for her. "I'm a bit of a mess, don't you know," he mused. "Any ideas?"

Emilie arched an eyebrow. "A few."

"Like?"

She sat up, sitting herself comfortably on his thighs and taking hold of his wrist. "I'll buy the suit for you if you do something for me," she purred, nuzzling his palm.

"Mmm?" he sounded thoroughly distracted as she licked his thumb. "What's that?"

She met his eyes, smiling impishly. "Tell me how deep I go," she said. Her free hand nimbly unzipped his fly as her mouth slid down over his index finger, sucking languorously.

When all was said and done, the clothes were all past wearing, and they'd decided on _deep enough_.


End file.
